Side Story: Impersonations
by Arait
Summary: The boys of Homra are broke, completely out of money. But that's okay because Totsuka is the master of activities that cost nothing at all. This is an amusing game he comes up with for them all to play. No one will be spared. Rated T because Yata is in it.


_**Hello everybody! This story was written in the span of one week as a reward for all the readers of my main story Waiting for Totsuka because we hit 2000 views! Thank you all so much for making that the most popular story I've ever written.**_

_**Disclaimer: If anyone is OOC, don't blame me. They're just bad actors ;P (If you don't get why I say that, you will by the end of the story).**_

* * *

Four young men sat around a table at a bar. The setting was cozy, the atmosphere thick. In spite of the welcoming feel, it was quiet inside, as only their table was occupied. This, of course, made perfect sense with it being 2:30 in the afternoon on a hot Thursday in late September. These four were the odd ones for being in a bar at that time. Everyone else would be outside enjoying the last of the warmth before winter set in.

One of the young men counted money. In a derby cap, glasses, and slim khaki pants, he looked like he too had planned on going out that day. He also looked like the only one responsible enough to be put in charge of summing all the cash that the four men had pooled together.

"Six hundred twenty yen," he announced, having sorted the coins and bills into their appropriate piles. A collective moan expressed everyone's displeasure with the small amount.

"That's only two hundred each," one of the others complained, looking shady behind dark glasses, a ball cap, and the hood of his jacket.

The waiter and bar owner appeared at their table then with a grumpy expression on his face. "No matter how many times you count it, Dewa-kun, it won't grow any," he pointed out.

"That's not necessarily true," Dewa countered, readjusting his glasses. "Bandou counted three times and got a different number each time."

If it had been possible to see his face behind his disguise, Bandou would have looked as offended as he sounded. "Hey! In my defense we _did_ find more in Fujishima's pocket one of those times!"

A spiky haired carrot-top protested, "Don't bring me into this!" He was nearly always dressed as if his clothes could help counter the uncomfortable way he felt in social interactions.

The bar owner, who was desperately trying to get them to leave, suggested, "Well, if you don't even have enough money to buy an appetizer here, why don't you go somewhere free?"

All three boys who had spoken pondered over this word, _free,_ as if they had never considered such a possibility. What even was free?

Seeing that they weren't coming up with anything on their own, the bar tender provided, "Maybe the beach, or _something_." While the beach may have been a good suggestion for most of the boys who frequented the bar, those three were among the most reserved. They weren't likely to go there on their own. Thankfully, the fourth boy at the table had influence over the other three.

Uncrossing his arms, the brunette leaned forward and stated with the import of someone planning a coup d'etat, "The beach is not free, for at the beach are beautiful women. Beautiful women that are pursued by all the sorry, desperate men in all of Shizume City who have gone there to attract them. We are each one in millions of choices for these ladies, so we must stand out. We must have the ability to buy them what they want, or we mustn't go at all."

His motivational speech killed any thoughts they may have entertained about spending the afternoon at the seashore. Giving up, the bartender sighed and went back into the kitchen. The suggestion he had made of something 'free' had the boys thinking, though.

An idea came to Dewa, and he mentioned, "We could go to the library."

For a moment, he had gotten everyone's hopes up, but just as quickly they were crushed. The brunette let his head fall to the table in shock where it banged loudly. "I've always hated that about you, Masaomi. This love for books. Where does it come from? It kills me. I don't understand."

Addressing the brunette's whiny attitude, Fujishima scolded in all seriousness, "Chitose-san, you're probably the only reason we haven't thought of something to do yet." After all, he was the one who opposed every possibility they came up with.

He didn't lift his head from where it had fallen at the mention of books, groaning in his depressed stupor.

Dewa, for his part, felt compelled to defend his choice, grumbling, "There might be girls at the library."

The room fell to silence then, the only sound that could be heard the coarse breathing of a redhead who had been asleep on the couch all along. None of them dared to ask his opinion. If he had been awake to offer a short-winded solution, they all would have accepted without question, but they knew better than to disturb his sleep. Anyways, he didn't seem like the kind who needed to fill every spare moment with activity. As the bar owner's longest standing friend, he also wasn't chased out of the bar for lazing about like they frequently were.

Some time passed, and the heat of the afternoon sun started to make them all drowsy. Just when a couple were drifting off, the front door's bell chimed, sounding the presence of a new arrival. A messy haired boy younger than them with dark eyes and black rimmed glasses stood in the doorway. Even in shorts and a light, button-down shirt, he was sweating. He glanced around with a sigh like the person he was looking for was not there.

Before he could sit down or complain about anything whatsoever, four men mobbed him at once, an evil plan glowing on their faces. "Fu~shi~mi~kun~," Chitose greeted, spokesperson for the group. The tone of voice used made the boy in question back up towards the door, eyes widened. He didn't like being crowded, or coerced, or greeted in a sing-song voice, for that matter. If the person he was looking for wasn't here anyways, maybe it would be best if he waited elsewhere. Curse that boy for always being late...but Bandou blocked his exit, arms crossed like some sort of hoodlum.

"Do you have any money?" Chitose questioned.

"What the hell?" Fushimi responded, his first reaction coming out. "Am I being mugged?"

They realized then that their insistence was rather threatening. Calming them all down, Dewa explained their situation, how they were looking for something to do but didn't have enough money to do any of it.

Chitose finished off the explanation, saying, "If you chip in, we'll let you join us?"

_Bribery,_ the youngest acknowledged, and not effective at that. That was low, even coming from those four. He had no intention of sharing his money with any of them, knowing good and well that only Fujishima was even slightly likely to pay him back. If, however, he gave them the tiniest impression that he even had money, they surely wouldn't let the matter go. He'd watched them play poker before and knew he couldn't get away with lying either, not to them.

His best option was to avoid answering. With the appearance of complete disinterest, he averted his eyes and replied, "I just came to meet Misaki."

"You might as well come with us, you and Yata-san," Bandou said, trying to convince him with twisted reasoning and misplaced optimism. "After all, Kusanagi-san was getting mad that we were just sitting here doing nothing."

"That's not my problem." Fushimi reminded.

"Yes it is," the hooded boy persisted. "He won't let you stay either."

Sighing again, Fushimi tried not to roll his eyes—ever since he had told Misaki in front of them all that he had grown out of such a childish habit years ago, he had tried his best to avoid doing it. "I said, '_meet_ Misaki.' I'm pretty sure we aren't staying. He said he wants to show me something."

It wasn't his intention at all to hurt or shock them with his words. He was actually surprised when they all looked at him, jaws dropped as if asking, _Even Fushimi has something to do?_ Still, he couldn't help but laugh that he accidentally made them all feel even more like losers than being broke had.

When they finally backed off, giving the teen the space he deserved, a dirty-blond came out from the kitchen, whistling contentedly. He wore an apron and had flour on his face as if he had interrupted a cooking project specifically to come talk to them. They could all tell that even thought he tried to hide it, curiously looking for something behind the bar's counter. Once he had found the ingredient, he addressed the group.

"So, did I hear you're looking for something free to do?" He asked, his happiness overtaking the former mood. "You should have just asked. I am the master of activities that don't cost anything, after all."

Easily carried away by the newcomer's upbeat perspective, Bandou rejoiced. "Totsuka-san! Do you really have an idea for us?"

"I sure do," he responded, giving them a wink and a thumbs up. "I know just the game. I used to play it with my friends in school. Let me go gather everybody, and then I'll explain it to you all, 'kay?"

Those easily swayed, agreed. Fushimi finally got the chance to sit down, disappointed by those easily swayed and Yata's late arrival. The redhead barely stirred in his sleep.

Before Totsuka came back, a short boy in baggy shorts and a tank top stormed through the door. His forearm was ripped up from elbow to wrist, and a similar scrape was visible peeking out the bottom of his shorts where the fabric had been shredded. Angry, he threw a skateboard—whose front wheels had been torn away from the body, dangling by one screw—across the bar and let out a stream of vulgarity.

Since it was so easy to tell he was pissed, Chitose inquired, "Yo, Yata-san, what's wrong?"

"Damn skater punks," he complained, continuing an incomprehensible rant that was more cursing and insults than it was an explanation. "It was rigged. It was fuckin' rigged."

"Come on, Yata-san, slow down. You aren't making any sense," the other boy was trying to calm him down unsuccessfully.

"Looks like a pretty hard wipeout," Fujishima piped in. "You all right?"

Yata rubbed the knee that was bleeding. "I'm fine. But it ruined my skateboard and screwed up my plans for the day." Mumbling something under his breath, he continued, "I even rushed over here 'cause the crash made me late, but it turns out Saruhiko isn't even here yet either."

"Uh...Yata-san," Fujishima interrupted, hesitant to contradict the angry boy. "He's right over there." He pointed then to the dark haired boy sitting quietly at a table in the corner, and Yata followed the finger to where it indicated. Saruhiko Fushimi was watching them with a semi-disinterested look on his face. At least now he knew why Misaki had been late, and he found himself wondering if he could fix the damaged skateboard. Misaki had taken harder falls than this one. He would be fine, but he would never forgive the ones who did it if they had to trash his board.

Saruhiko also guessed they were no longer going to see whatever Misaki wanted him to see.

At that time, Totsuka came back from the kitchen having cleaned himself up. "Oh, hi Yata! Another person to join our game. Isn't that nice" He greeted pleasantly, not paying much attention to the general angry feeling in the air (or perhaps he noticed just fine but feigned obliviousness to cheer them all up).

Beside him was a pale girl whose white hair made the rich color of her dress even bolder. Following them were two tall, blond men. One was slender—and the bar owner mentioned formerly. The other was starting to broaden out for the approaching winter and carried with him a tub of ice cream* he was eating from directly.

Mouth full of creamy chocolate, he couldn't help but exclaim his concern upon seeing his injured friend, "Yata-san! Are you okay?"

Somewhat embarrassed, Yata ran his fingers through the chestnut hair that wasn't under his typical beanie hat because of the heat. "Yeah, I'm fine." Then, turning to Totsuka, he asked, "What's this about a game? I like games. Is it fun?"

Totsuka took that opportunity to explain the rules. "This is how it works: I've written the names of all of us on slips of paper that we baked in these fortune cookies." He held out a plate covered with the amusing dessert. "Everyone take one."

As requested, the boys hanging out at the bar began to select their cookie from the plate—starting with the chunky Kamamoto who still had the spoon from the ice cream in his mouth. That boy was always the first to reach for food. Yata grabbed one for himself and tossed a second to Fushimi, knowing well that his friend wouldn't go out of his way to participate. Even the young girl—Anna—reached a hand up to take a fortune cookie. The bar owner—Kusanagi—reluctantly accepted his when Totsuka gave him a pouty look. Soon, everyone was holding one so that finally Totsuka took one for himself.

There was one remaining. Totsuka looked around the room, trying to determine who didn't have one when he noticed the redhead on the couch. Mikoto Suoh, the leader of all the boys who gathered at this bar was no longer asleep, but he wasn't exactly alert either. Realizing that the last fortune cookie was his, Totsuka took it over to him.

"King, this is for you," he offered with a huge smile.

Mikoto gave him a suspicious and tired glance. Still, he took the cookie held out to him just to humor the younger man and opened it, plopping the first half in his mouth. All the others similarly began to eat their choices sending a murmur throughout the crowd.

"What is this?" Mikoto demanded while looking at the name on the paper: Chitose. It would appear he hadn't been paying attention at all.

Totsuka continued his explanation, "Don't tell anyone the name you drew. That is the person you will have to impersonate. Then, we all have to guess who you are trying to imitate. Everyone has five minutes to prepare. Then, gather back her for the performance."

They had all been expecting something immature coming from Totsuka, but the _actual_ game came as a surprise. Half of them were rather excited to mockingly imitate their friends. The rest could no longer get out of it, since they already had their assignments. Most of them would never want to disappoint Totsuka anyways.

Five minutes was not a long time to plan their impersonations, so they hurried off to gather props and to organize their various ideas. Even Mikoto stood with a sigh and made his way to his bedroom. The only one still there was Fushimi, sitting in the corner, thumbs glued to his PDA. It wasn't entirely unexpected. Still, Totsuka approached him, scratching his head curiously.

"Aren't you going to get ready?" He asked inquisitively.

In response, Fushimi clicked his tongue lightly, keeping his eyes on his phone. "No need." The statement implied well enough that Fushimi didn't intend to participate, so Totsuka left him be to get his own performance ready. Slowly, everyone began to file back into the dining room until all were gathered. They had cleared the tables from the center of the floor to give people space to act.

Once the stage was set up, Totsuka stood before them all triumphantly, "Since volunteering to perform is out of the question for some of you guys, we will proceed alphabetically by surname. That means, Bandou you're up. Let the impersonations begin!"

He ceded the stage then to one very startled, dark-haired boy. For once, Bandou was not wearing his hood or shades, leaving his emotions plain on his face. Nervousness was covered with a deep seated hatred for having a name that started with 'Ba.' He'd been dealing with the curse since primary school. Anyone here would call him petty for complaining about it, though, so he begrudgingly began his imitation.

The performance seemed to center around girls: receiving kisses from girls, preparing food for girls, making girls swoon (all of them invisible, of course). A handful of golden glitter was tossed into the air to accompany each action, and Bandou tried his best to use a smooth, soothing voice. That last bit was a tad unsuccessful.

Then, the guessing started. "Chitose-san," Kamamoto supplied, since he was clearly the one most often associated with women.

"No way," the brunette argued in his own defense. "I don't sparkle! That's more like Totsuka-san."

By then, Bandou was getting frustrated and out of ideas. "You guys," he complained. "Can't you get it?"

When they all stared at him in silence with thoughtful expressions, the amateur actor got desperate. Grabbing an invisible spoon, he began shoving imaginary food in his mouth until his cheeks pooched out. Afterward, he put the food aside, narrowed his cheeks, and threw more glitter in the air. Still, silence prevailed.

At last, Kusanagi rescued them, asking uncertainly, "Is that...Kamamoto-kun in the summertime?"

Relieved and defeated, Bandou agreed. He slumped off the stage, making way for Chitose to come up. For his part, he only had to kneel down and say, "Aw, a kitten." Everyone immediately guessed Fujishima.

Next, Dewa took the stage. He was clad in a hoodie, a borrowed ball cap, and cheap sunglasses. It was good that people were able to guess it by his appearance because he was lacking in both courage and creativity to do anything more than just stand there quietly.

Stand there quietly is exactly what Fujishima did when it was his turn to act. The nose glasses he wore limited the options to two people. No one in their group but Fushimi and Dewa needed corrective vision. But the thought of either of the two in nose glasses brought the whole bar to laughter.

With 50% accuracy, they figured out it was Dewa, and another performance was finished. The boys of Homra were just starting to get into this. When someone asked who was next, Totsuka counted out the alphabet to himself.

"E, F, G, H, I, J, K...K. That means Kamamoto," he indicated.

As requested, the tall, pudgy blond stood to take his turn, but Chitose protested, "Fushimi-kun hasn't gone yet."

"It's okay. Let it slide," Totsuka said, brushing it off with an agreeable smile. "He told me he wasn't playing." Even as he was speaking, they heard a tongue click from the direction of the stage.

"I didn't say that," he mumbled. "I said I didn't need to prepare." Then, realizing how foolish it was to have to explain himself to them, he scoffed again. "Whatever. Let's get this over with."

Something strange and foreign began to grow across his face. It started at one corner of his lips and rose upward, tugging at the skin and baring his teeth. The disfigured smile made those in the front row shudder. Never would they want to personally be on the receiving end of a grin like that.

Frightened, they turned to Yata for help, Bandou pleading, "Make him stop, Yata-san! Or at least guess who he is. You're his friend!"

Yata didn't respond, however, not even when Bandou shook him by the shoulders. Truthfully, Yata had been particularly quiet throughout the whole game so far and also sweating bullets. He looked terrified, but not of Fushimi like the rest of the crowd. Once it became clear that they could not rest their hope on Yata to save them from Fushimi, all eyes fell to the only other person who, at times, seemed to understand him: Totsuka.

Courageously, that young man swallowed hard and stepped forward, asking pleasantly, "Can we have another clue?"

It seemed Fushimi had already thought of a second approach. Around his right hand a small flame flicked to life. Murmurs spread around—_fire, can't anyone at Homra do that? Guess it isn't Anna, then..._From the tongue of flame, however, began to form some sort of creature with wings. Lifting off his hand into the air, the formidable shape made even those hotheads duck when it flew lazily toward them.

Another one formed, slowly making its way to the only girl in the building. In spite of everyone else's fear, she just tilted her head to the side, observing the casual way it flew. When Kamamoto bravely stepped forward to protect her, she stopped him with a raised hand.

"It's Tatara," she announced without a hint of doubt.

"About time," Fushimi grumbled, making everyone marvel that the young girl's guess had been correct.

Even Kusanagi was surprised, poking at the harmless remnants of one of the fire creatures, "Were these supposed to be butterflies?"

All of a sudden, Tatara himself burst out laughing. "I get it. I totally see it now!"

That reaction put everyone back in the mood for Kamamoto's performance. He came onto the stage, jacket tied around his waist, trying to walk in as cool a way as he possibly could—which actually looked quite silly. The first guess was, "Mikoto-san," which fell quite nicely into the plan. Kamamoto instantly jumped at that person, insulting them severely and demanding, "How dare you talk about Mikoto-san like that!"

They all knew then that he was impersonating Yata. As he left the stage, Chitose called out, "You're too tall to be Yata-san." Even _that_ didn't get a reaction out of the short boy.

Then, it was Kusanagi's turn. He calmly remained sitting in his chair and glanced sideways out a window. He was wearing a hoodie, which was unusual for him. An awkward silence came over the room while they all waited in anticipation for him to begin his acting, all the while nervous that this was the most he would do. Right after he could tell they were getting antsy, he sighed dramatically and pulled out his phone. Whatever activity on it that occupied him—he appeared to be typing a text message—took enough time to frustrate the spectators.

Yata's wristwatch beeped, and he absentmindedly reached to it to display the text message he'd just received. _That had to be more than a coincidence,_ everyone thought as words appeared on the holographic screen.

_Pay attention, Mi~sa~ki~,_ it read. Sender: Kusanagi.

That spooked the distracted boy so much that he shook the image away. "No! You can't call me by my first name," he insisted, as he had repeatedly. "Only Saruhiko..." He drifted off then as they all realized who Kusanagi was imitating.

Anna was next. Running behind the bar, she gathered her supplies. First, she needed a glass. They were one shelf to high for her to reach, but she managed. Then, a high-end alcohol—one she chose at random—was necessary. Finally, she grabbed something from the refrigerator. All the older boys were concerned about the ten year old female knowing her way around a bar like that, perhaps even that she might drink something. On the other hand, they _were_ the reason she lived upstairs.

They were particularly worried when she crawled onto the counter in her frilly dress in order to see over and began to pour liquor into the glass. With a pained and ashamed look on her face, she did her best to make a complaining voice. "Anything but red bean paste, you Heartless Woman." Turning her face away from them with eyes closed, she plopped a ball of the purple substance into the toxic cocktail she had just created.

Kusanagi was practically in tears at the rendition of himself, moaning, "Why did you have to bring up such a horrific memory?"

"King, you're next!" Totsuka announced cheerfully, but the redhead had already stood to take his turn, expression as apathetic as ever.

Picking Anna up from the counter, he carried her under his arm to a barstool where he set her gently down on the seat. He himself dropped down in the one beside her. Even though it hadn't been part of his original plan, he made good use of her creativity, bringing the bottle of liquor over to their vicinity. Exhaling deeply, he closed his eyes, knowing the scene was set up to begin. Then, he took out a cigarette and lit it.

Kamamoto whispered in wonder, "He looks like he's impersonating himself." But he had spoken a moment too soon.

Leaning over towards the young girl—his first and foremost prop—Mikoto asked, "Hey, wanna spend the night?"

Anna, who usually showed little to none of her true emotions, blushed wildly. Her eyes widened, and her breath was caught in her throat. She had no clue how to respond. For a moment, the whole crowd forgot that this was a game, gasping in shock.

Since no one had guessed yet, Mikoto tried another blunt pickup line, "Buy you a drink?"

That caused more horror, except for in Totsuka who exclaimed obliviously, "Oh, I know! It's Chitose!"

When the glares of half a dozen peers burned furiously into him, Chitose felt, for the first time, embarrassed about his way of life. "I'm not a lolicon," he cried out despairingly.

"Of course not," Totsuka assured. "Anna was just the only female around to portray your way of life." As much as the happy boy had tried to make his friend feel better with those words, he hadn't helped the situation any. He couldn't continue trying to encourage Chitose, though, because it was time for him to act.

He could have thought of many easier ways to get the other boys to guess who he was imitating, but that wasn't Totsuka's goal. Rather, he wanted to have fun, and he wanted them also to have fun with him. For that reason, he had gone all out, even asking Kamamoto and Kusanagi to act as assistants. Their job was, as it turns out, to hold up two large pieces of paper, which Totsuka pretended were walls. He walked through each piece, hands in his pockets, using what little fire power he had to singe the edges around the parts he had destroyed.

After that, he looked in exhaustion at the ceiling and collapsed onto one of the barstools. There, he also made use of the bottle of liquor Anna had chosen out, pouring himself a shot of it. Instead of drinking it, though, he just stared distantly at the golden liquid and sighed. People had guessed immediately who he pretending to be, and by this time they were chanting his name in unison: "Mikoto-san!"

Having finished his performance, Totsuka bowed to the audience and returned to his seat. That left only one person who had yet to perform: Yata. When all eyes fell to him, he turned bright red. The terror on his face was even worse than before. He tried to stutter out some excuse that was incomprehensible, but the others wouldn't accept excuses.

"Get up there, Yata-san," Kamamoto encouraged. "You're the only one who hasn't gone yet."

At their goading, he slowly made his way to the stage, trying to calm himself, even though he was hyperventilating and his palms were clammy. He tripped over the leg of a chair on the way, crashing into the nearest table. Clumsiness such as that was unusual for the skateboarder and best fighter of the group's lower members. The quiet demeanor he had had all game was out of the ordinary for him as well, and people started to wonder if maybe something was still bothering him from his earlier wipe out. That wasn't the real problem, however.

It all became clear, when he turned to face the audience. Gesturing as if he was going to sit on the couch, he brushed something invisible behind him out of the way and sat down as delicately as he could for a temperamental, adolescent boy. With shaking hands, he patted the area all around him and his legs like if he were wearing a bulky skirt that needed readjusted. Then, he looked up at them, eyes shimmering, but with the straightest face he could manage in the situation.

"Mi-" he croaked, bringing a few chuckles from the crowd, who already knew who he was. They just wanted to make him finish this. Closing his eyes, Yata partially regained his composure and then attempted a sweet voice, "M-Mikoto's red..." His voice cut off again, so he swallowed hard and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Mikoto's red is pretty!"

* * *

_***Ice Cream was requested by VioletFireflies as the reward to the readers. I hope she likes this as well, but I threw ice cream in there especially for her.**_

_**Let me know how many you were able to guess correctly!**_


End file.
